First
by EleanorKate
Summary: I've not actually decided who this is….Chummy or Shelagh? Make up your own minds folks ;)
1. Chapter 1

Holding tight to his hand, feeling the bed dip underneath me as I lay and then him beside me, our hands our only contact. His bed, not mine. I would not dare to take him to mine. I look to him and he is smiling at me, although underneath it all for all my inexperience, I can see the hesitance and the burden that crumples his forehead.

He said to me not to feel I had to quite yet, but it is me that has brought us here. I remember the resolution that took me to him, the look on his face when I took his hand and the relief that rushed through me when he kissed me knowing where I was leading him. Every second that I have known him, every instant of my life, has all taken us to here and now. It's that final step to me becoming whole; those final moments arrive to eradicate my past as I feel his lips fleetingly touch my cheek.

Time is ticking interminably slowly but I want it to. I want it to stop to let me cherish every feeling that is coursing through me, whether it is love, a desperate yearning to feel alive or the clutches of trepidation now that I lie here. I want to capture that forever, encase that look of reverence I can see in his eyes into my memory for the rest of my days.

There is nobody and nothing here. The world outside this building no longer exists for this time I spend with him. I cannot see anything but him, cannot hear anything but the sound of my own heartbeat, but I feel every single touch of his fingertips on my bare arms as they drift up and down my skin in the lightest of caresses. I am chilly in anticipation of what is to happen and I want to slide underneath the sheets, drown myself in warmth but I stay atop the bedclothes for now. I will no longer hide behind the shackles of the past. I have left fear at the door, I have left worry in the street and I will take this love with me with each step that I tread.

For I know that finally I am loved and that one person, that I did not realise was waiting for me, is here and it will be wonderful.


	2. Chapter 2

I can feel myself breathing; chest rising and falling with those long breaths you feel as your body slows and prepares you for sleep. I cannot sleep here, I know that. I have to return, but for now I simply stay fighting the need, and want, to shut my eyes for the remainder of this night and wake as the morning light filters through to me.

I can feel him breathing too as my arm that is draped casually over him lifts with each breathe. I know his eyes are closed but he is not asleep either; I am sure of it. I do not want to say anything as there is simply no need.

The wind is rustling the closed curtain. Billowing I can see its outline in the darkness of the room as the night goes about its way around us. The curtain stills for a moment and silence surrounds me again, the roar of the day having dissipated long ago, sounds scattered the moment I stepped into this room with his hand in mine.

I know I have indulged myself. My choice was also the finality of the tolerance that he has shown towards me, the restraint that he has been so patient in keeping. A choice, for the first time in my life I freely made and I rejoice in that. No questions, no guilt, no fear of retribution for taking a chance and being loved. My penance may be his child, if it were a punishment to be so blessed.

Who would castigate me now I am here?

Nobody, for I will be his wife.


	3. Chapter 3

I see him first as sunlight dances its way across the quadrant, as he emerges from the door opposite me. Around me the Sisters tend to the greens that form the foundation of our dinner table and I catch his eye as with sturdy, disciplined steps he walks towards me.

As he continues his journey, I see him nod and say 'hello' and the warm greeting that he gets from each of the Sisters, each of my friends as they toil in the sun.

He arrives and sits next to me on the step as I await my next call. He does not kiss me or hold my hand and I can barely feel the touch of his knee against mine through our combination of blue dress and dark trousers. He knows that despite the undeniable fact he is now part of Nonnatus and part of me, the wrath of the Sisters was one that no sane man would want to incur so I understand why he greets me with little more than smile. He refrains from anything more than that modicum of contact. He shows so much respect and I realise that that is simply 'him'.

I smile too as he produces two biscuits he has clearly smuggled from the kitchen cupboard. I take mine. He knows me already.

He asks me if I am well. I am. I am well. He asks if I am sure and I am thrown for a moment. We have not seen each other for 3 days; 3 seemingly endless days when waking each morning I wanted to transport myself back in time.

He must mean our encounter, our moment. I have reflected on that evening many a time in these last hours. It's meaning to me; it's connotation to us and I find nothing within it that I can regret. Shame does not touch me and disquiet, for once, does not rear its tentative head at my shoulder. This must be what love is; the fact that we sit here and he barely says a word to me but his company is all I need.

As we sit side by side, basking in the sunlight, I assure him that I could not be better.


	4. Chapter 4

I close my eyes; the warmth of the hearth surrounding every inch of me. As I drink in the peace of the remainder of my day, I feel him sit down next to me breathing in the aftershave that has been freshly dabbed across his skin. He is so close and I feel his arm slide across my shoulder as I open my eyes again.

He offers me his Whiskey glass which I take. For a person for whom had barely let alcohol touch my lips before, I am starting to gain a taste for it. I pass him the glass back as the liquid scorches it way down my throat and smile has he takes a sip himself. The crystal finds itself on the side table beside him with the tiniest clinks of glass on wood.

I rest my head on his shoulder and we need not say a word in this peaceful, almost cathartic atmosphere with the rigours of the day washing themselves away from my bones with each rise and fall of his chest. It is almost like baptism as my spirit is cleansed. I pray for quiet nights like this – of my future self and my beloved husband with Tchaikovsky lilting on the radio as we sit in the parlour, looking to a time when our family is peacefully sleeping.

The clock ticks slowly as we say no words to each other now. I have always found that silence can have the utmost strength. The fact that his fingertips are ghosting their way over my arm and shoulder is doing little for the resolve that in weakness led to purgatory; this deeply contradictory behaviour I have allowed myself to exhibit as the days pass by. I tell myself that this sin is not wrong yet guilt creeps it way to me in those quiet times. Ought I be regretful of this wanton behaviour of mine? I think and my answer is no. If find, yet, even with this, there is no impulse from him; no motivation to move without me and I find joy in that.

Having spent my life giving to others this person does not expect anything of me other than my love and it is truly perfection.


End file.
